


Beach House

by wiredvillaneuva



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Drunken Flirting, F/F, Flirting, Identity Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 20:37:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10048160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wiredvillaneuva/pseuds/wiredvillaneuva
Summary: The events of the episode "Beach House" with context and some artistic license. Amy Santiago did not expect this much flirting from her coworker, but that doesn't mean it wasn't welcome.





	

 

Amy Santiago was very good at “supposed to.”*

*Most of the time.

With work, she was good at “supposed to.” Grade School, college, detective work. Every vacation and every relationship was structured, even if not officially. She dotted her I’s and crossed her T’s. Everyone knew this.

“By the book” was oftentimes an understatement because she wrote the damn thing. If there was no protocol, she took the liberty to make the rules. She’s good at “supposed to.” Organization gives her control.*

*Most of the time.

Things get a little bit more interesting in the moments where Amy Santiago loses some of that control.

 

* * *

 

Speaking of shoulds, there are quite a few things that Amy Santiago learned, as a young girl, that ladies should do.

Ladies should be polite, and helpful. Ladies should finish their homework smile at their teachers. Ladies should be slightly conservative with their dress.

And let us be quite clear; Amy Santiago was a feminist at a very young age. She happened to believe that being a lady and crushing the patriarchy weren’t mutually exclusive.

Ladies, if they should flirt with boys, should not be vulgar or crude. And young ladies should definitely not be eyeing other ladies.

There was no protocol for the warm feelings she got for her 8th grade Teaching Assistant, her high school debate partner or her college dorm RA. It was uncharted territory. There was no framework for it. So Amy put it out of her mind. That lack of protocol, and the certain disgruntled look on her father’s face when the news would report on the pride parade convinced young Amy that she was destined for a life of proms, wedding dresses and white picket fences. The authorities in Amy’s life wanted Amy to be a lady, goddammit, so she would be. And it’s not like she didn’t like boys. It was easy. It was simple.

It had been going fantastically. Denial is one hell of a thing.

It had been going fantastically, that is, until a rather feminine and rather intoxicating coworker made it her mission in life to get Amy Santiago drunk. And drunk Amy Santiago forgets about “supposed to.”

 

* * *

 

“Is this gonna be the weekend we finally get to meet 6-drink-Amy?”

Besides the fact that Amy felt rather flushed with the knowledge that Gina had been watching Amy drink (and not just watching, watching rather closely, as the scale would suggest) but Amy was thrilled that this hawk-like observation had led to a system of organization that Amy herself had never endeavored; Gina Linetti had devised a scale on which to measure disorder, impulsivity, drunkenness. It was genius. It was flattering. And Amy Santiago would never admit this to herself, but it was a bit of a turn-on.  
“The Santiago drunkenness scale.” She liked the sound of that.

 

* * *

 

Amy downed two shots, faced Gina and confidently said, “you’re two shots behind, Linetti.” Gina looked delightfully impressed. Amy Santiago felt a small anxiety bubbling up that spoke to half-formed thoughts about her coworkers possibly interpreting their conversation as flirtatious. But none of her coworkers were listening, and besides, Gina’s attention was a bit thrilling. It had always made her excited, but she’d never actively pursued it before. She felt warm in the face, elated, invincible. The beach house getaway held promise.

 

* * *

 

It should be noted that there’s a history to Amy’s life that she did not share with many because she couldn’t yet share it with herself.

It had been easy enough in the past for Amy to dismiss her affection toward her female peers. To her thinking, it was admiration, jealousy, or it simply couldn’t be helped (everyone had sexual hang-ups about Rosa).

And sometimes, she was straight up suppressing it. A surprising amount of the time, in fact.

Part of the reason Amy went to work parties, when it was impractical to get drunk during the workweek, was because of a hawk-like stare from a coworker that lingered a little too long, or a firm hand placed on her lower back that made all thoughts fly from Amy’s head, make her world go still and had feeling acutely aware of her own blood coursing through her body. Tipsiness created some reasonable doubt, and the next morning any rather gay moments could be easily dismissed.

Amy was sitting in the promise of the night’s flirtations when Jake brought Captain Holt in.

It should be noted that Amy had many conflicting feelings about Captain Holt.

First and foremost, authority in Amy’s life had always been closely associated with performing her best self. Her list of authoritative expectations included things that teachers and her own family had encouraged; she wanted to be known as intelligent, hard-working, reliable, helpful, moral, feminine, straight … the list goes on. It was the framework she had for impressing authority. To be clear, the reality of Amy wanting others to see her as absolutely straight was subconscious.

There was a bit of a cognitive dissonance that Amy experienced around Captain Holt.  Yes, all these things had gotten her recognized by authority thus far, but the deep corners of her brain were actively reworking the expectation of heterosexuality. Captain Holt did not care at all if Amy was heterosexual.  She knew this. She did not think about it. When Amy was in Captain Holt’s office, she avoided looking directly at the rainbow flag on his desk in case it awakened any thoughts she was avoiding.

So when Captain Holt arrived, Amy’s stomach dropped at first. She felt as if she had been caught in an act of which the authority in her life would not approve. Which was silly, said the other part of her brain. She was doing absolutely nothing Holt would look down upon. She then attempted to suppress all of these thoughts because they made her rather uncomfortable.

Even so, Amy was back on high alert. When she was in his presence, she wanted to impress him, however she could. But she was two shots in, and Amy could feel Gina sitting directly behind her.

  

* * *

 

“I’m definitely not comfortable being drunk around him!” Amy confessed when Holt had left the room and Jake prompted her defend his decision to bring their boss.

“Aims, please, keep the volume down—‘kay?” 

“Sorry,” Amy breathed. “It’s two drinks,” she whispered, turning to Gina. “I can’t help it! That’s it, I’m cutting myself off.” There is no way she was getting to 6 drinks in front of her boss. She let herself go when she was drunk, and she was not about to let Holt see that.

“So Jake messes up, and you punish me for it?” Gina asked. “C’mon Amy, you’re better than that.” She threw herself back onto the loveseat she had been leaning against. Amy felt a little dejected and then tried to suppress that feeling, because if she thought about it any longer it would mean she was looking forward to flirting with Gina the entire night while they got drunk together. One concrete thought did slip through; _damn, that was forward._

 

* * *

 

Alright, so Amy had felt a little awkward after those first two shots. Who cares? She was determined to be professional in front of Holt, _and_ have fun with her coworkers. Although the dinner conversation was a little awkward.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” Holt announced. Everyone raised their glasses and Amy waited expectantly for Holt to say some heartfelt words that would turn the night around.

“Amy, you don’t have a drink,” Holt pointed out.

“Oh,” Amy choked out. She was avoiding that whole affair. She glanced at Gina and said, “No, it’s okay—I don’t need a—”

“The captain is making a toast,” Gina cut in, and Amy looked at the woman she had been avoiding eye contact with during dinner. “Don’t be rude, prude,” Gina added with a suggestive expression.

 _Damn, this is not working out._ Amy clenched her fists, smiled at Holt and forced the words out, “Okay—I guess I’ll have one more.”

“You’re on vacation. Who’s counting?” Holt asked, most likely attempting a jovial quip expected of him at a work party.

“ _I am_ ,” Gina whispered to Amy across the table. Amy’s stomach lurched. As if that weren’t flirtatious enough, Gina licked her lips and winked. Amy’s anxiety sky-rocketed. There’s no way her coworkers didn’t hear that—and it was so clearly suggestive compared to their previous conversations! She didn’t notice that everyone thought Gina was joking. And then she reminded herself; maybe Gina _is_ just playing it up. She thought, maybe I’m just overreacting. Which made her feel a bit of shame connected to a whole slew of feelings she’s been suppressing. Briefly, memories surfaced of college parties at which frat boys would declare “every girl is straight until she’s drunk,” when handing Amy shitty beer. This, of course, had always made her uncomfortable—and she certainly didn’t want to be thinking about it now.

She turned her attention back to the conversation at hand. Evidently, they had been roped into taking a walk on the beach.

 

* * *

 

Amy was feeling good after that wine that she had finished at dinner. Her and Gina had gravitated toward each other during the beach walk, during which an absolutely ball-shattering cold bit at her face. The tip of her nose went red. Gina was a bit exuberant herself (presumably due to successfully dragging Amy back into their game.)

“Mini cognac, ladies?” Terry offered.

Amy moved her arms up and down in a jittery, but adorable, 3-drink dance move. “Oh, yeeaahhh!” she exclaimed. She was tipsy enough to forget momentarily about conducting herself in a respectable fashion. “Warm me up, you little bastard!” And Gina’s encouragement certainly didn’t help.

“Four drinks,” the witch herself proclaimed smugly. Amy flushed a little and looked away. “Thank you, Terry’s fanny! And thank you Poseidon! Great God of the Sea!” Gina hollered at the ocean. Amy thought it was ridiculous. And with the cognac warming her stomach, she grinned anyway.

 

* * *

 

Things were going smoothly.  Amy had grinned at Gina multiple times on the way back from the beach, and Gina was playing cool. It was possible, in Amy’s mind, that perhaps Gina _wasn’t_ flirting with Amy, because that was a preposterous idea. Still, Amy was four drinks in, and didn’t much care either way.

Gina was already in the hot tub when Amy emerged from the beach house in her swimwear. Gina kept a steady eye on her for the whole walk to the hot tub, a nearly imperceptible grin to the corner of her mouth. She raised an eyebrow as Amy sat across the tub, to which Amy deftly responded, “keep it in your pants, Gina.”

“I will, if you keep it in your Grandmother’s synchronized swimming costume. Where’d you get that thing, Santiago?”

“From your mom’s closet. Last night.” Amy nodded her head up and down, smug. “That’s right. I was with your mom. And we were doing stuff.” Jake slid across the tub to give her a high five.

Gina shook her head and took a sip from her champagne. Amy didn’t miss the small smile.

Holt had joined them and a few minutes passed while the gang tip toed through small-talk around him. Amy was thoroughly enjoying the jets and definitely not thinking about Rosa’s body when her mouth betrayed her and asked, “what are you wearing?”

“A t-shirt,” Rosa said, unsuspecting of Amy’s current drink four “bit of a pervert” state of mind. “I only brought a bikini. Seemed weird to be in front of the Captain in a bathing suit.”

Amy briefly mourned the sight of what could be Rosa in a bikini right next to her. She then said, “Gotta cover up them thangz, yeah? FYI, you can still see them through your shirt.”

Amy was then busy trying to be nonchalant about confessing to staring at Rosa’s nipples. No one seemed to notice or care, though. Save one. Gina was delighted and followed their conversation gleefully from across the tub.

 

* * *

 

“Aims, Aims, Aims,” Gina stopped her. Aims was leaving for the boring Holt party. “You don’t wanna be around Holt in your current state.” Gina shoved a drink in her hands, and enjoyed the way Amy sucked it down with no protestations to speak of. Gina crossed her arms and said, “Say hello to the most confident woman alive.”

Amy came out of gulping it down with a throaty gasp. “Drink number 5!” she exclaimed. “You,” Amy said with feeling, “are a true friend…” Gina was concerned for a moment that Amy was too far-gone to continue her game when Amy finished, “and a hot little piece.” Amy slapped Gina on the ass. She had lost all reservations. Gina gave her a look that read, _not the smoothest pick up line, Santiago._

Gina remembered to never doubt herself. She was brilliant, so why would she?

 

* * *

 

“Aims.” Gina walked into the room Amy was currently making a carpet-angel in with a glass of water and a mission to get her back into working order. Gina suspects that she may have gone too far with the game and that the Santiago Drunkenness scale had a limit. She hated to admit that things had gone haywire when 6-drink Amy had professed loneliness earlier. The game was off.

“Giiiiina,” Amy greeted her affectionately. “You got to see the sasquatch. Is it everything you drumt?” Amy’s eyes had trouble focusing on Gina’s face, but she was smiling warmly.

 _Cute,_ Gina thought. She felt herself responding with warmth despite of herself to the affection. “It was the stuff drumts are made of.”

“Can you hold my eyes still until things stop spinning?” Amy asked, a bit helplessly, and reached out her hand for Gina’s to no avail.

“’Kay, let’s sit you up. There… Easy does it. There you go.” Amy struggled up. Gina was fighting a little disappointment that things were deescalating. She shoved a glass of water in Amy’s hand.

“Now drink this entire glass of water.”

“You’re taking care of me,” Amy breathed happily. Gina glowed a little bit at this, and realized at once that Amy’s world wasn’t spinning anymore. Gina became aware that since Amy had sat up, their faces were close. Her eyes were focused on Gina’s, lucid.

“Just ‘cos I know you won’t remember it.”

“No,” Amy stated. “You like me.” Gina paused, reconsidering where Amy sat on the Santiago Drunkenness scale. Maybe she wasn’t sad. Just sentimental. Or a bit mushy, or something. Amy grinned up at Gina and said, “6-Drink Amy is your friend.”

As Gina gazed steadily at Amy, reading her expression, and Amy was returning the look, the air changed somewhat between them. Amy was first smiling gratefully, but the longer Gina stared unabashedly with that masked expression she wore so well, Amy’s smile dropped. While she looked at Gina’s striking features (the cat-eyes, sharp eyebrows and adorable nose) and Gina didn’t break the contact, it felt like an acknowledgement of all those moments at work parties where Gina’s hand would linger a little too long. And Amy stared, her lips parted. Her eyes flickered briefly down to Gina’s full mouth.

Gina grabbed Amy by the front of her shirt and firmly pulled her closer. Their faces were inches apart. Gina searched her face, glancing between her eyes (and briefly down to her lips) to assess where they were after her forwardness, which was suddenly tangible, real, undeniable. Amy went still for a moment. Compelled to look up at Gina’s feminine features, she drank in her scent. Drunk still, she beamed in spite of herself.

Amy tilted her head back ever so slightly; she didn’t pull back, but instead adjusted the space between them as a sort of invitation. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, and their lips were a breadth closer than before.

Gina didn’t miss it. “I knew you were givin’ me signals, Santiago.”

Gina closed the space between them and kissed her.

Amy was in heaven.

 


End file.
